Post by Deleted on Dec 1, 2014 21:18:29 GMT -5
#1: Red & Black
Written by comixmaster
“*Sigh…* What have you got?”
“We want full control of all of them.”
“That wasn’t really a question…”
Nick Fury stood in front of Congress, wearing a neat black suit & tie and, of course, his signature eyepatch. He stood in front of the members with a straight, upright posture. Even just standing there, he emanated pride and authority.
“We want full access to all of your S.H.I.E.L.D. teams—background information, family history, etcetera, etcetera.”
“With all due respect,” Fury said, “I’m gonna hafta decline.”
“With all due respect to you, Director Fury, you must open your eyes and see the bigger picture.”
“Oh, I see it, alright. Super villains are popping up as quickly as super heroes do. There are threats out there beyond human comprehension. For example: a guy with fire powers walks into a populated area and decides to go boom. Who can stop him? He kills lots of people, and he can’t be stopped by just a gun. That’s when one of my teams shows up. A team of people with more than just guns. Say, and indestructible shield? Maybe the X-gene?”
The numerous members of Congress shifted uncomfortably in their seats at the reference to mutants. “Y-yes, you have a point, Director. That is certainly a possibility. But right now, on the other side of the planet, there are terrorists and wars and diseases and disasters that one of your teams can take care of just as easily as a person with ‘fire powers.’”
“Yes, we’re aware of that—”
“There is one team that has gotten our…attention. Turn to the monitor, if you will, Director.”
Fury looked at the large, flatscreen TV a few yards away. It showed a group of young people wearing matching uniforms running towards something. Each of them had superpowers and were using them.
“Is S.H.I.E.L.D. aware of this group of mutants?”
“…Yes,” said Fury.
“Is this a S.H.I.E.L.D. team?”
“Hell no! We’re watchin’ them, and that’s it. And I will not give away any intel on any member on any team of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s. Lives are being saved, people. So why is there a problem?”
“We pour billions of dollars into S.H.I.E.L.D.; we except some level of control.”
“Tell you what. Why don’t you just make your own team? Maybe use some super heroes. There are plenty out there—the Fantastic Four, Spider-Man…The possibilities are endless. I’m outta here.”
Every member of Congress was shouting at Fury as he strode out of the room. The members that were questioning him almost had to yell as they talked amongst themselves.
“What do we do?”
“What can we do?”
“I know what we can do. We can do exactly as he said. We’ll build our own super hero team.”
Weeks Later…
The Oval Office.
“What have you got for me, General?” asked President Ellis.
General Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross slapped a yellow folder on the President’s desk. The word “CONFIDENTIAL” was stamped on the front in big red letters. “Our recruits,” he replied.
Ellis sat up and immediately opened the folder, rummaging through its many pages. “Excellent…How many did you find?”
“Three,” said Ross. He was a tall, very well-built man, but his age was catching up to him; his hair and mustache were turning white. Like Fury, he also gave off an aura of pride.
“Only three?”
“Only three.”
“All right,” said the President as he turned his attention to the file. “Tell me about them.”
“We’ll start with the most…controversial candidate,” said Ross. “His name’s Wade Wilson, also known as…Deadpool.”
? There used to be a graying tower alone on the sea...
The foot soldiers dropped their guns and ran for their lives as a person in a red and black costume jumped from the shadows.
? You became the light on the dark side of me...
Deadpool gripped his katanas and spun around and around, moving through soldiers too slow to get away.
? And love remained a drug that’s the high and not the pill…
Deadpool laughed maniacally as he chopped up his victims like a helicopter. He saw that one soldier was still running. He gripped one of his katanas like a javelin and threw it.
? But did you know…that when it snows…my eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen…
The katana pierced the guard in between his shoulderblades. He fell to the ground, grasping the thing thread of life. Deadpool strolled over to him, whistling the tune playing in his head.
? Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the gray...The more I get of you, the stranger it feels, yeah...
“P-please…” the guard begged. “I-I-I-I got a wife and—and kids…”
Deadpool wasn’t listening. He pulled out his pistol and shot the man directly in the forehead. He twirled his gun in his hand as he looked down the alley. He saw two guards rushing a short fat man into an armored van. Deadpool’s eyes widened as he realized…
Hey! That’s my score!
“C’mere, fatty!” Deadpool yelled as he started sprinting toward them.
“Go! Go! Go!” the guards both screamed to the driver as they shut the doors behind them.
Deadpool managed to leap on top of the vehicle before it took off. “$#!% $#!% $#!%!” he yelled as he clumsily tried to steady himself. He stabbed his katana into the vehicle, giving him something to hold on to. The vehicle made sharp, quick turns, trying to shake him off.
“There is no escape!” he shrieked. “There is no escape…from Deadpooool!” With his other hand, he took out his pistol and started shooting into the van. One by one, the guards were killed. Only “Fatty” was left. Deadpool sliced a hole into the vehicle and jumped in. The man started screaming and crying. “Don’t kill me, please! Please! Wh-who’s paying you? I’ll—I’ll pay you double!”
Deadpool furrowed his brow as he sat on the lap of a dead guard. “Wait, wait, wait. Sooo you’re saying that you can pay me four million dollars, tubs?”
The man was silent.
“Guess not,” Deadpool said as he shot him in the chest.
“What about this other guy?” the President said. “Johnny Blaze.”
“Ah,” said Ross. “Ghost Rider. His practice is…a little out of the ordinary.”
“How so?”
“Well, sir, he fights…demons.”
Name’s Johnny Blaze. Recently, though, been known as the “Ghost Rider.” Couple years ago when my dad died, I made a deal with the devil—traded my soul for my dad’s. The devil kept ’is side of the bargain and gave my dad back to me. But there was somethin’ else…With my soul gone, the devil bonded me with the Spirit of Vengeance. A curse. A damned curse. Then my dad ended up dyin’ again. Been on the hunt for the devil for’s long’s I can remember.
Was a stunt devil back in the day. Helluva job, gotta tell ya. Me ’n’ my bike did the impossible together. Loved every second of it. Fame was almost there, then my dad had to go ’n’ die, and now here I am.
I am famous, just not the way I wanted to be.
Ghost Rider sped down the highway, a leash of fire trailing his motorcycle. But that wasn’t the only thing following him. Lifeless, pale-skinned demons were rising from the ground and chasing the Rider. The sun was just barely visible over the horizon. Night was taking over, and in more ways than one.
Damn demons won’t quit followin’ me. Time ta give ’em what’s comin’.
Ghost Rider stopped his bike to a screeching halt. He got off his bike and faced the demons, his skull head blazing madder than ever.
“Come get me!” he screamed.
A bulky beam of fire erupted from his jaw and swept through the hoard of demons. The monsters were burned down to their pathetic, bony selves. The screamed in high pitches of pain. It was what they deserved. They and the rest of them.
And of course…Mephisto.
“I’ve heard of this next guy,” said the President. “Frank Castle, the Punisher. He was a Marine.”
“That’s right,” the General said. “And a damn fine one at that. Ever since his family was murdered, he’s been all over the country fighting criminals. Lotta good people are alive because of him.”
“What powers does he have?”
“None, sir.”
“What?”
“He has no superpowers. He’s just a man with a gun…and a vengeance.”
Not many understand the concept of death. You have to see it with your own eyes to fully realize it.
As Punisher peered through the lens of his sniper rifle, he spied on a group of low-lives. Not far from the group was a van stocked full of cocaine. A few more thugs came out of the van and joined the group. What Punisher was witnessing was a drug deal.
I’ve seen a lot of death in my day.
Punisher recognized the dealers as members of the gang Las Fuerzas, a major drug-dealing gang that was organized, humungous and lethal. He couldn’t recognize the thugs receiving the drugs. They were most likely just a couple losers looking to get high. But drugs from Las Fuerzas were expensive…Where would two losers get the money, anyway?
Punisher would’ve shot them right then and there, but this time was different. He needed information on where Las Fuerzas were based. Punisher had worked out a general area, but the area was too wide for him to decipher. He knew that Las Fuerzas were heavily discreet about information on themselves. No one but them knew where their hideout was, and anyone who said anything about it would get killed…then the people they told would get killed too.
This was a job for the Punisher—too big for the cops, not big enough for the super heroes. The deal was about over, and Punisher hadn’t heard anything yet.
Time to find another way.
Punisher turned the rifle until the crosshair surrounded one of the men. He pulled the trigger, shooting him right in the head. He quickly moved his aim over to the next guy, then the next guy and the next—all headshots—until only one remained. A Fuerza. Punisher aimed a little lower and shot him in the leg. The thug toppled over, crying in pain. Punisher got up and made his way down the metal stairway at the side of the building. He went over to the screaming Fuerza and pointed his “interrogation gun” at him. The weapon was shaped like a pistol, but it was as long as a shotgun. Punisher only needed one hand to carry the thing.
“Where is your hideout?” Punisher roared. He meant business, but the Fuerza was too stupid—or too blinded by pain—to realize it.
“I’ll—I’ll n-never tell!” the thug yelled.
Punisher pressed the gun against the thugs hand and fired. The thug’s hand practically exploded, with blood and flesh flying everywhere.
“Aaaaaaaaagghhhh!” the Fuerza screamed. “Ahhh-how! You—you shot m-my hand! Ggghhhhhh!”
“It was a simple question!” Punisher said. “Give me an answer! Where is your hideout?”
“N-n-nooo…! Can’t…tell…Dios me ayude…”
“Other hand it is.” Punisher pressed his gun against the Fuerza’s other hand.
“No! No! I’ll tell! I’ll tell! Just…put the gun away! Please!”
Punisher put the gun back in his belt. “Where is it?”
“It’s…It’s in…Westchester! If…If you’re gonna find our building…owww…you’re…gonna needta find our symbol. It’s really small. It’s on…owww…a warehouse—abandoned…”
“Thanks,” said Punisher. “That’s all I needed to know.” He took the gun out of his pocket and pointed it at the Fuerza.
“W-w-wait! What’re you doing?!”
“Your gang has gotten lots of people killed. Innocent people.”
“Please…I…I only do it for the money! I didn’t want to hurt nobody! Please—”
Bang!
A Few Hours Later…
Westchester County, New York.
Found it. The Las Fuerzas building. The drive here was rough. Cops are looking for me, and they know to look for a white van.[/font][/i]
Punisher went back to his van and drove it in the alleyway, right behind the building of Las Fuerzas. He went to the back of the van and got his weapon ready.
I’m not here to kill people, but if I end up killing a few Fuerzas, good.
Punisher hopped out of the van, with a rocket launcher slung over his shoulder.
I’m here to send a message.
He loaded up the rocket launcher and pointed it at the top floors of the building. He just stood there, breathing slowly. This gang was killing New York. But it wasn’t big enough for any super heroes, and it was too big for the cops. Las Fuerzas weren’t going to end tonight; their death would come soon enough. What they needed to know was that they were not safe. They needed to know that someone was on to them. They needed to know that someone knew about them and was watching them.
Punisher fired the rocket launcher upward. The rocket sailed gracefully to its target: the second floor of the building. At first, for a split second, nothing happened, but then…
BOOM!
…a fiery explosion erupted from the building. Punisher watched with a slight smirk on his face.
Not a lot of people understand the concept of death. You have to see it with your own eyes. I’ve seen a lot of death in my day. My family…taken from me. My military pals…murdered. Las Fuerzas have someone on them now: me. Where there is sin, there is punishment, and where there is punishment, there is death. Sometimes, though, people not deserving of death get killed anyway.[/font][/i]
“What do you plan on doing with this team, General?” asked President Ellis as he put down the file.
“They’re going to hunt down and eradicate threats that pose as problems to national security,” General Ross stated.
“And what would the team’s first mission be?”
The General gave the President a cold stare. “To hunt down the Hulk.”
Eight Months Ago…
“Steven Rogers was just an ordinary kid,” lectured Bruce Banner. He paced back and forth in front of the room while scientists, reporters, and government officials—including General Ross—watched. “He had a slew of health problems. He was asthmatic. He was small for his age. One of his legs barely worked. Then it all changed—his life, the war, everything. He became…something else—a super-soldier. He became a symbol. He became Captain America. This was all thanks to a serum that made him all these things. Today, ladies and gentleman—” Bruce faced the audience with a proud smile on his face. “—I have replicated that serum.”
The audience members started murmuring to each other.
“Today, ladies, and gentleman, and you will witness history—or, at least, the repeating of history. This will change the future. Wars will be over faster. This could lead to hugeadvancements in modern medicine. This could lead to a cure for…for…cancer and…and…Alzheimer’s. Helping me today is the lovely Betty Ross.”
The audience quietly applauded as Betty entered the room. She wore a white labcoat and her black hair was tied back. She was wheeling in a large, steel chair with cuffs for the hands, ankles, and stomach. The two scientists gave each warm, longing looks. Much to General Ross’s dismay, they were in love.
Bruce unbuttoned his shirt and threw it off, revealing his skinny, bony figure. The audience was still murmuring as he sat in the metal chair and let Betty put the cuffs around his wrists, his ankles, and his gut. He shivered as he felt the cold steel touch his skin.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Betty asked. She whispered so no one could hear her.
“We’ve already had this discussion, Betty,” Bruce said.
“And I’m asking you again. Bruce, you didn’t run any trials.”
“I know, Betty. I know…”
Betty was becoming more and more agitated. “You don’t know what’ll happen if this doesn’t work. You should’ve run trials—”
“On who? Who, Betty? I need to do this. I know it’ll work.”
Betty took a deep breath. “Fine. We’ll start the procedure, then.”
She rubbed the spot of injection on his arm with an alcohol swab. She thre the swab away and went to a big metal case on Bruce’s desk, opening it and taking out a tub filled with clear, green fluid. At the end of the tube was a needle, and at the top of the tube was a button for her to press to pump out the fluid. She walked over to Bruce and gave him one last look. He gave her a nod, signaling her to go ahead. Betty gently pushed the needle into his arm. The green fluid started going from the tub to the needle to his veins. Betty let go of the button as the tube became half-full.
“Keep going,” Bruce whispered through gritted teeth.
Betty hesitated before pressing the button again. Soon the tube was completely empty. She took the needle out of his arm and rubbed spot she’d injected with another alcohol swab. She then stood back and waited. Everybody was waiting.
Nothing happened at first. But then, Bruce screamed and made everyone jump. His yells were full of pain, like he was being whipped to death. But he was changing. It started with his pectoral muscles. One second, they were nonexistent—the next, they popped out of nowhere. Then his abs popped out. What would normally take months of exercising to develop was happening in just a few moments. Bruce let out a massive scream, standing tall in front of the audience, which immediately began clapping. Before the serum, Bruce was just under six feet tall and had weighed a couple pounds short of one hundred thirty. Now, he was six feet & three inches tall and weighing two hundred thirty pounds. He looked like a completely different person. He felt great. He felt…powerful. He looked at his arms, his legs, his stomach—he couldn’t believe he did it. He did it! After years and years of research, no one could ever come close to recreating the super-soldier serum. But now he did.
Bruce looked upon the audience and spotted Ross. He wasn’t applauding. He was just there, observing. He gave Bruce a cold stare, snapping something inside him. Bruce could feel it—the hate, the anger, not just from inside Ross, but inside himself.
The applause became replaced by gasps from the audience. Bruce looked down and saw his feet turning green. He didn’t care. All he could think about was the general. All he could think about was how much the general hated him. He remembered all the arguments they had over Betty. Ross hated Bruce. Why? Bruce wanted to know!
His skin was turning green everywhere. He could feel his mind pulled away from his body, as if it was going to get replaced by something else. Something was wrong…The serum…Something was wrong with the serum. What was it? Bruce wanted to know!
Wanting…Wanting…Anger…What had gone wrong with the serum? Why was the audience just watching? Bruce could feel his muscles getting even bigger. His mind was getting pulled farther away. He was losing. Losing…Losing…Bruce’s mind felt like it was hanging from a thread that was about to break. He just needed to hold on…His voice started sounding like roars from a bear.
Ross…
The serum…
The audience…
Betty…
Betty…
Betty!
And just like that, the thread snapped. He didn’t know what he just became. A monster, most likely. All he could do was watch as he jumped into the audience, hell-bent on crushing the general in his big, green hands. Despite looking old, the general was still in his physical prime. He ran away from him faster than Bruce could comprehend. He couldn’t do anything as his body mindlessly charged after the general, plowing into innocent people standing in his way.
Suddenly, he heard himself speak.
“Ross try to step on Banner!” he yelled. “Now Banner step on Ross!”